


Tonight, Tonight

by KatieHavok



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Goodbyes, Implied Sexual Content, Injury Recovery, Kinda, Kissing, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Pining, Post-Injury Healing, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Post-Movie(s), Romance, Separations, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9873326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: Their Jacob is a stout figure standing blankly in the rain. He blends seamlessly into the background cacophony of New York at dawn, yet this doesn’t make the separation any easier—and Tina can no longer blame subway dust for the tears in her eyes. She hesitates a moment longer, allowing them all one final look, before clasping Newt and her sister and Disapparating them home.Or: According to the screenplay, Newt didn't leave New York until a fullweekafter the events of the film. This is the story of what happened in that time.





	1. December 8th, 1926

*

**_December 8, 1926_ **

Their Jacob is a stout figure standing blankly in the rain. He blends seamlessly into the background cacophony of New York at dawn, yet this doesn’t make the separation any easier—and Tina can no longer blame subway dust for the tears in her eyes. She hesitates a moment longer, allowing them all one final look, before clasping Newt and her sister and Disapparating them home.

They materialize in the sitting room. Queenie beats a hasty retreat to the bedroom they share and closes the door firmly behind her. Tina winces, but there’s nothing she can do for her sister, so she turns her attention to someone she _can_ help. Newt crosses the room on wobbly legs and collapses onto the couch, ravaged face hidden in filthy hands. His shoulders shake with delayed reaction, and Tina bites her lip in indecision until an idea comes to her.

She sets the kettle to boil and fetches porcelain cups the No-Maj way, allowing Newt time to compose himself. He’s watching her carefully when she returns, eyes suspiciously bright in his dirty face. She sets the tray down with an apologetic wince. “I’m all wet with domestic spells. I’m not much better doing it without magic, but maybe this will help you feel better.”

Newt chances a sip, grimaces, and sets the cup hastily aside. “Thank you,” he rasps, and his eyes fall to his pitted hands, where he morosely picks his cuticles. He makes no move to clean himself up, lost in his own misery, and Tina chews her lip indecisively before finally brushing his shoulder with a tentative hand. He goes eerily _still_ at the contact, eyes riveted to the floor. 

She keeps her voice pitched low when she speaks, using the same soothing tones she’d used on Credence beneath the city. “I know Gra— _Grindelwald_ hurt you down there. I could hear it as I was running up the tunnel. Can I...would you let me help you clean up? I’m good at those spells, and I have some medical training.”

Tina holds her breath as she watches him swallow, his throat working. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor when he shrugs out of his coat and passes it to Tina slowly. It’s heavier than she expects but she makes no comment, instead sending it into a corner to clean itself with a deft flick of her wand. He watches it hover while trembling hands fumble at his bow tie.

Tina doesn’t allow herself to think—she simply reaches up and takes over, sure fingers brushing his aside while plucking the knot loose and leaving it to hang around his neck. His eyes drift close as he inhales carefully, and Tina pretends not to notice his discomfort.

“Is that better?” She asks softly, and he nods. The tremble in his hands worsens when he unfastens his waistcoat, and devolves into full-body quaking while he struggles out of it. 

“—Sorry—,” he manages through clenched teeth, and Tina watches his knuckles turn white. Faint worry gives over to real concern.

“I’ve got you,” Tina murmurs, working his rigid arms out of the garment. “Did he use the Cruciatus curse?” She tries to keep her voice relatively light and unconcerned. Newt shakes his head, jaw clenched.

“No. Electrical,” he manages to bite out, and Tina can _hear_ his teeth grinding together. She frowns in thought but makes no comment. 

Peeling his grimy waistcoat off reveals that his white linen shirt is stuck to him with sweat, reduced to pale translucency over his chest and shoulders. She sucks in a sharp breath as she notes the dark splotches marring his skin. She weighs her options, deciding there’s only one reasonable course of action, and steels herself for a suggestion she knows he isn’t going to like.

“I need to take your shirt off, Newt,” and maybe she’s misread the situation because he doesn’t respond. He just rolls his eyes to look at her before looking away, gaze deeply miserable. “I’m sorry,” she repeats meekly, and tries very hard not to look or think or _feel_ as she peels the filthy shirt off him. Tina barely smothers her shocked breath at what’s underneath, and she doesn’t notice his trembling increasing as she stares.

His back and sides are riddled with the beginning of intense bruises, in all shades of blue and purple. The discolorations are interspersed with livid red lines that resemble the roots of a tree, branching down his arms to his wrists, up his neck and over his shoulders. Beneath those is a patchwork collection of scars: scratch marks and puncture wounds and burns and a smattering of star-shaped keloids that she thinks may be _gunshot wounds_. All of this, layered atop a motley cacophony of freckles—his skin a tome of imperfections retelling the story of a life lived rough, all stretched over toned and defined muscle.

Tina realizes she’s gaping when Newt makes a pained sound, his eyes searching her face in confusion. She snaps her jaw shut and forces her mind away from the wonder of his body, fingers shaking badly when she drops his shirt to the floor. 

“You’ve been hurt,” she explains, and she clears her throat roughly when her voice cracks. “I’m going to clean you up, and then I have some salve for the bruises. I don’t think I have anything for the...burns. I’m sorry.” Newt remains entirely passive as Tina uses her wand to summon a soft cloth, a basin of water, and a variety of unguents from the small medical supply cabinet. The items line themselves neatly on the small table, a row of perfect soldiers which Tina sets upon eagerly.

The shaking really can’t be helped but she suspects a calming draught may alleviate it somewhat, so she starts there. She pours the potion past his lips and over his clenched teeth and he swallows it convulsively, eyes never leaving her face. She ignores his stare. The potion takes effect almost immediately, causing his eyes to glaze and turn distantly hazy while the tremors work themselves out. He’s still incredible _tense_ , wound tightly enough to snap, but his skin no longer ripples with reaction so she counts that as a victory. Newt sighs deeply through a tight jaw, and his hooded eyes convey thanks before he blinks them closed.

Tina is immeasurably relieved when his oceans of green-gold are hidden behind delicately purple lids. No longer feeling scrutinized, she moves with confidence as she wets the flannel and gently pats the damp cloth over the worst of the bruising. She can smell him from this proximity, a sharp tang of spent adrenaline and masculine sweat, over an earthier scent she catalogs as simply _Newt_. She responds to these odors on some visceral level, and carefully doesn’t consider the ramifications of her reaction.

Newt exhales shakily when she unscrews the lid of bruise salve, and a line works between his eyebrows as he opens his eyes to watch her dry his skin with a spell before scooping out a generous dollop. “This is going to be very cold,” she squeaks through a dry throat. He shrugs tersely and hunches his shoulders when she shifts closer. Tina takes a fortifying breath before rubbing the paste in, noting that he holds his breath and clenches his eyes shut when her fingers brush against him. She catalogs the texture of his skin while she works, committing it to memory and plastering a clinical expression on her face, feeling anything _but_ objective.

Tina can’t help lingering for a moment or two past the saturation point of the ointment. His skin fascinates her, despite her efforts to remain impersonal. Fine tremors transmit through where they touch until she breaks contact and switches to healing his other shoulder. His breathing is ragged by the time she’s finished, each exhale ending in a high-pitched wheeze, and she can see him watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. The angle of his head and the look in his eyes reminds her of those terrible moments in the Death Chamber, where they’d both come so close to ending, and she shudders involuntarily.

Newt grimaces while cutting his eyes away. “Thank you,” he croaks, and Tina firms the line of her mouth. She vanishes the filthy water before cleaning and refilling the basin.

“You can take a bath tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess,” she murmurs as she scrubs the back of his neck. “I don’t think you can manage it now. You’re liable to drown.” Her voice is intentionally light, almost unconcerned, and he snorts something halfway between a laugh and a sob. Something in Tina’s chest squeezes painfully at the sound, and she swallows against the lump in her throat as she moves onto his hair. It crackles with holdover static, stubbornly resisting her attempts at cleaning it until she frustratedly casts a series of imperviousness charms and uses her wand to douse him.

He looks like a drowned kneazle as he stares at her, all straggly hair and feline intensity with water trickling down his neck. Tina chokes back a semi-hysterical giggle and dries him before raising the cloth to his face. His hand flashes up to clamp manacle-hard fingers around her wrist, and Tina freezes. 

Newt dampens his lips, tongue a flash of pink in the low light, and searches her face. He relaxes his grip in increments and drops his eyes to her shoes. “My hands are still too shaky,” he admits on an unsteady exhale, and she has the sense that this confession costs him a great deal. “Do watch my eyes, they’ve itched terribly since we returned.”

Tina cleans his face with maternal tenderness, dabbing the grit out of his eyes while he sighs and finally, _finally_ relaxes into the cushions. The rasp of his three-days stubble against her fingers sends a pleasant tingle down her spine, and Newt swallows and swallows, eyes tracing her every movement when she dabs at the ledge of his jaw and down the column of his throat. Then it’s his chest and stomach, and he’s once again breathing carefully. 

She presses _hard_ into his sides, hearing his small grunt of surprise but no hint of pain. “No broken ribs,” she declares with palpable relief, and chances a small smile. He narrows his eyes at her warily before focusing to the left of her face. Tina smothers a sigh and resumes her task.

“Thank you,” he husks when Tina finishes, and she ducks her head in acknowledgement. She dries him with a spell then knits her hands together, looking him over with a critical eye. He’s clean enough, and the bruises have faded considerably. Still, the strange lines are a vivid, painful mantle over his back and arms, and he trembles with the after-effects of spellshock. Goosebumps chase over his skin and Tina engages in a fierce internal debate. Newt watches this without comment, until her common sense wins out.

“I think you just need to sleep,” she finally decides, instead of _take off your pants and let me clean the rest of you_. It’s a wildly inappropriate thought, but she knows he’s going to have to sleep on the couch and she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to get the dust or his scent out—to say nothing of the memories.

Tina swallows down the strange, watery feeling in her chest and sends all her supplies back to the medicine chest. She squats to remove his boots and cast a gentle _Scorgify_ on his lower half, along with as a series of protective charms on the couch. She then takes his arm to help him recline, fine muscles stiff and unyielding beneath her fingers, and covers him with her mother’s afghan.

Newt closes his eyes and relaxes into the cushions. Tina lingers uncertainly. She wants to pull him close and brush the hair away from his brow. She also wants to flee the room and hide in a corner to pick at the confused knot of her feelings. Frozen with indecision, she hovers until he opens his eyes and looks at her questioningly, his gaze disarmingly direct. She grimaces awkwardly and fumbles back a few steps. “Um. You...sleep. I’ll go, uh—Queenie. I’ll go check on Queenie.”

Calloused, trembling fingers tentatively reach out to touch her wrist. “Thank you,” he says, eyes earnest where they meet hers, and Tina blinks away sudden tears. They stare until the moment draws out into awkwardness, and Newt drops his hand to settle more comfortably on the couch. He sighs deeply and much of the tension leaves his frame when his eyes drift close.

Tina watches this reticent, careful man drop his guard, eyes lingering on his face as she enjoys the warmth suffusing her chest. Then she snaps herself out of the trance he’d induced and starts toward the bedroom—only to change course abruptly and cross the room in three strides. She closes the apartment door behind her and trots down the hall to the communal bathroom, where she leans her forehead against the mirror and runs the hot water until the glass fogs over. Her eyes prickle, her hands shake, and she isn’t sure if it’s exhaustion, relief or something else _entirely_ making her feel so raw.

_Pull it together_ , Tina admonishes herself sternly, but she can’t shake off the feel of storied skin beneath her fingers. She can’t forget the gleam in his eyes as she stripped him, or the elegance of his fine build, or the way his hair had felt between her fingers. Even the _scent_ of him, something she knows intellectually should have been unpleasant, had worked its way into and through her, curling around forgotten places and lighting sparks in the darkness. _Enough!_

Tina summons her toiletry bag and a clean set of pajamas, and brushes her teeth while determinedly _not_ thinking about the man sprawled on her couch. She strips and takes a bath, water temperature just this side of too-hot in an attempt to scorch away the thoughts of him. It doesn’t work; if anything, the heat intensifies her imaginings, her _feelings_ , until she’s breathless with frustration. 

She very determinedly ignores her hardened nipples as she scrubs until her skin is pink and raw. She _can’t_ ignore the trickle of heat that flares to life when she washes the juncture of her thighs, and Tina groans and knocks her head against the side of the tub. “ _No_ ,” she tells her libido firmly, and determinedly dries and dresses herself.

Newt is deeply asleep when she tiptoes back into the apartment. His head is canted at an angle and the blanket has slipped, revealing his wholly masculine chest. Tina bites her lip while creeping closer and tucking the afghan snugly around his shoulders. He shifts and murmurs, eyes tightening in response to a dream, before settling back down with a sigh. The sound sets her nerve ending alight, all prior admonishments forgotten. Heart pounding, Tina takes one last long look before creeping away, feeling simultaneous guilty and almost unbearably aroused. _This is not good,_ she thinks, and flees into her bedroom.

Thoughts of Newt fly away when she finds her sister crumpled on her bed, deeply asleep. Queenie’s still in her good about-town dress, shoes kicked to the side with a crumpled hankie clutched in one hand. Tina’s heart wilts at the sight. She tugs a blanket over her sister and Queenie whimpers in her sleep. Tina crawls into her sister’s bed and pulls her into her arms. She presses a kiss into her forehead and Queenie sighs and presses deeper into her side. She’s deeply asleep again moments later.

Tina frets until exhaustion takes her—bitterly questioning the wisdom of the law, wondering at Newt’s actions and the way he _looked_ at her and what it all _means_ , and fearful of what the future holds.

*

Tina achieves a soupy vestige of consciousness sometime past noon, if the position of the sun is to be believed. She wakes alone, neatly nestled in her sister's bed, and frowns before the memory of the previous evening and very early morning floods back in. _Queenie_ , she thinks, and then, _Newt!_

She springs from the bed and stumbles across the room, flinging open the pocket doors. She isn’t sure what she expects to find—her sister wringing her hands in agony, perhaps, or maybe Newt sprawled over the couch and begging for her. It _isn’t_ Queenie blandly stirring something that smells like eggs in a skillet, or Newt bending over carefully to retrieve something from his case. Tina gapes, momentarily flummoxed.

“Good morning, Teenie,” her sister says softly, and Newt cranes his head to look over his shoulder. His hair is damp and he’s mostly dressed, freshly-pressed waistcoat and bow tie hanging loose. He’s scrubbed pink and clean, and the only thing that gives away his troubles of earlier are the purple crescents of sheer exhaustion beneath his eyes. He’s also clean-shaved, the ledge of his jaw smooth and burnished in the light from the window, and _that_ intriguing notion causes Tina to gulp. Newt stands, carriage still a bit stiff, and smiles awkwardly.

“Tina. Good morning.” His eyes meet hers for only a second before skittering away, and she experiences a pang. Before it can take root, however, Newt slowly pulls out a chair and indicates for her to sit. She notices a citrus, woodsy scent clinging to him, and it takes her a moment to realize that it’s his _aftershave_. Her knees knock together and unhinge while she collapses into the chair.

“The younger Miss Goldstein’s cooking breakfast, though I suppose it’s actually lunch,” Newt murmurs, genially ignoring her struggle with gravity. “She insists that I need to eat, and I suspect she’s right. You are also in need of sustenance, and I need help with my creatures—I’m still quite sore, you see. After we’ve fed ourselves, if you are amenable, would you be willing to join me down in my case?”

Newt speaks mostly to his place-mat, but Tina can see the worried furrow between his brow, the way restless fingertips map the grain of the table. _He wants my company_ , she realizes slowly, and simple joy suffuses her. “Of course, Newt,” she replies happily, and gives him her most winsome smile. It dazzles him and seems to make him forget himself, just as she’d intended. He holds her gaze with no sign of hesitation, eyes wide and hopeful with newfound understanding. Then awkwardness sets in and they both drop their eyes to mumble trivialities.

“Oh, you _two_ ,” Queenie huffs, and if it’s a pale, gray imitation of her usual vivacity, no one comments on it. Instead, they tuck into the food with relish, heartened by the December sun and the warmth of familiarity.

*


	2. December 9, 1926

*

**_December 9, 1926_ **

Newt awakens to hard predawn darkness, jaw locked against a cry. He jerks upright and buries his head in his hands, throat working as he tries to swallow away the bitter taste of nightmares. This is his second night entertaining such dreams, and while he’s not unfamiliar with them, the return of things he’d long believed put to rest rankles somehow. It speaks to some vestige of pride he’d long ago thought burned away.

He breathes shakily until he feels in control, then squints at his battered alarm clock. It’s set to go off at half-past and it’s on the hour now, so he makes the easy decision to get up and start his day. He tidies his sleeping area before fetching his hygiene case and sneaking down the hall to the bathroom. He takes a quick whores bath in the sink before shaving the Muggle way, pulling faces at himself as he works the lethally-sharp straight-razor over the contours of his cheeks and jaw. Newt’s careful to wash away all traces of coppery stubble when finished; this is a women's-only boarding house, and it wouldn’t do to get Tina and Queenie in trouble for their kindness.

_Tina..._

Newt shakes her name from his mind, determinedly packing the woman and all the _feelings_ she inspires into a little mental box. He splashes on aftershave and dresses himself while carefully _not_ thinking about her: standard linen shirt, buttoned tightly to the throat; trousers the color of freshly-turned earth, faded from years of wash, wear and tropical sun; simple brown pinstripe bow tie, years out of fashion but far safer for creature work than the long neckties currently favored; waist coat the color of pre-harvest wheat, comfortingly snug. 

He fastens his abalone cuff-links and appraises himself with a critical eye. He shrugs, seeing only himself as he appears each day, determinedly not wondering how _she_ sees him while gathering his items to creep back to the apartment.

Newt very narrowly avoids colliding with the woman of his thoughts as he eases through the door. Tina leaps back and dissolves into giggles while he blushes and blunders away. “Sorry,” he whispers as he puts away his bag. “Didn’t realize you were up. I was just, um.” He can’t say, _I was thinking about you while washing_ without sending the wrong impression, so he cuts himself off and stares at his stockinged feet until her laughter resolves.

“It’s fine,” she says finally, waving her hand. “We’ll both live. Is there any hot water left?” Newt blinks dumbly for a moment or two, mind going to _very_ inappropriate places at the question, before wrenching himself back to reality.

“Yes, there’s hot water,” he mumbles, unable to prevent his eyes from seeking and finding her face. “I didn’t use it all. I only needed a shave, really.” He runs his knuckles over the smooth line of his jaw as he speaks, and watches her eyes track the movement of his hand. She flushes slightly but doesn’t look away, and Newt swallows an unnameable emotion while holding her gaze.

They stare until awkwardness transmutes into discomfort. She’s the first to drop her eyes, drilling holes into the floor while her hands flutter like wounded birds. “Okay. Uh, I’m going to go clean up. I’ll make breakfast when I get back, if you don’t mind waiting.”

Newt seizes the opportunity for both an easy out and a way to payback a little of her kindness. “I can prepare breakfast, if you’ll permit me. I am a rather capable cook.” He tilts his head, curious. “Where is the younger Miss Goldstein, is she still sleeping?”

Tina sighs and shifts, and Newt sees in her posture the same tender, peeling ache his own brother had directed toward him from time to time, usually when he’d buggered up catastrophically. It sends a nostalgic pang through him, and momentarily distracts from thoughts of Tina in a bath. 

“She’s not doing so well,” she finally admits. “She misses Jacob. _I_ miss him, and I know how wrong it is. This entire situation is balled up.”

“I miss him, too.” Newt murmurs, and he and Tina lock eyes to share a moment of perfect understanding. The moment deepens and draws out, growing intense and _heavy_ , and Newt loses herself in her lovely, dark eyes until she blinks and looks away. He focuses on her lips instead, wondering distantly how they’d feel against his own, curious if they’re as soft as they look, eager to know how _clean_ she’d taste—

“Bath,” she says suddenly, and Newt starts violently.

“Breakfast,” he rejoins, and very firmly drops his eyes to the floor.

Tina marches to the door, only to turn abruptly and jog into the bedroom. “Forgot my clothes,” she explains breathlessly, trailing the leg of her trousers behind her, and then the door slams ringingly and Newt snorts laughter into the silence. He stares at it for a moment, allowing his mind to wander after her.

“I’ve always thought of clothing as being optional,” he quips to the wood around a smirk, and wanders into the kitchen to see to breakfast.

*

The weak December sun is warm on his face when Newt strikes out later that morning, fed and shored up by Tina’s awkward attempts at conversation. Queenie joins them eventually, looking a bit more _herself_ despite her hair being in rollers and her generally sleep-disheveled state. 

Tina lights up with delight with Queenie puts in her appearance. Newt sits back and watches the sisters interact while they eat his food, a warm glow seeming to suffuse the entire room, and he’s careful not to disturb them while cleaning up. Then he pulls on his boots and suit jacket and his blue great coat, and winds his school scarf around his neck.

Queenie looks over and smiles gently. “We’d be happy to watch your case, Mr. Scamander,” she says softly, and he ducks his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m off to MACUSA, so I think that’d be best. Thank you, Miss Goldstein.”

Queenie waves his thanks away and Newt pretends not to notice the suddenly worried look on Tina’s face. He glances out the window in an attempt to get a bead on the weather before retrieving his brown leather gloves and tucking them into his pocket. Then it’s time to leave, and he shifts awkwardly while Tina stares at him from across the room.

“Well,” he settles on awkwardly, “I’ll be back in a jif. Must go give a statement, see if I can speak to Madam President about the real Mr. Graves, that sort of thing.”

It’s a lie and he can see that Queenie knows it. She smirks and he feels the brush of her Legilimency over his surface thoughts before she turns and goes into the other room. He restrains a roll of his eyes but only just. _That’s not playing fair,_ he thinks hard at her, and he detects a muffled giggle from behind the door. _Witch_.

Tina folds her arms over her chest and juts her chin, expression cross. “If you two are done,” she intones acidly, and Newt winces. She glares for another moment before relaxing and crossing the room, face revealing a hesitant worry. “Be careful,” she admonishes gently. “You aren’t Madam Picquery’s favorite person right now, even if you did get us all out of a jam. She could still arrest you.”

Newt swallows and forces himself to meet her gaze. “I doubt she’ll arrest me, Tina. My brother would be most put out, and she needs to remain diplomatic if she wishes to see Grindelwald extradited to England. Besides, I will be required to give a statement, and it looks better for me if I go on my own. You know this.”

Tina nods. “I _do_ know. I just worry.”

Newt can’t help his smile. “So I’ve noticed. It _is_ rather your forte.”

Tina sighs and rubs her elbows. “It comes with being the oldest.” A beat, then: “When are you leaving? For good, I mean? Not that I’m desperate to see you go. I just...I’m curious.”

Newt ducks his head. “I’ve passage booked for 14 December,” he mumbles. He speaks to his shoes, afraid of what emotion he’d see in her eyes. Relief? Or something far more devastating? “I had intended to seek other accommodations while out. I don’t wish to press upon the goodness of you and your sister the entire duration of my stay.”

“It’s okay,” Tina says quickly, and now he’s helpless but to look at her. She appears tremulously hopeful, a small smile playing about her mouth. “You can stay, it’s really...it’s no problem. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here, actually. I want to, um. Well. I want to check on your injuries later, make sure they’re healing well. If that’s okay.”

Newt thinks of the livid red marks tracing over his body, and the sense-memory of her hands rubbing ointment into his wounds. Goosebumps erupt on his scalp to sweep over his skin. He shivers delicately. “That would be fine,” he murmurs a little breathlessly, and her smile intensifies and becomes unbearably bright. He looks away quickly, lest he be blinded by her radiance, and heat infuses his face.

“Good,” she says, and then her hands rise and slowly, slowly drifts towards him. She touches his neck and Newt closes his eyes, breath catching. He feels her delicate fingers adjust something at his collar, and she sighs shakily before withdrawing. “Your bow tie—it was crooked.”

“Thank you, Tina,” he croaks, and her eyes are preternaturally dark when he looks across the space between them. _She’s of a height with me_ , he realizes, and warmth infuses his limbs, driving away the remaining goosebumps. His gaze lingers appreciatively on the arch of her eyebrow, the apple of her cheek and the sheen of her lips before he steps away, feeling suddenly awkward and too large for his body.

“I shall return,” he says abruptly, and sweeps out the door before she can formulate a reply.

And now he’s in the Manhattan crush, surrounded by crowds of people and marveling at how tall and modern the buildings are here. He pulls on his gloves less than a block from the apartment, in deference to the December chill, and allows himself to enjoy being a _tourist_ as he slowly navigates toward the Woolworth building, following the map in his head. 

He notes the multitude of people: rich and poor, grand and fatigued, and wonders absently where Jacob’s canning factory is located. Then he sees his destination looming white and austere before him, and he steadies himself before navigating the busy boulevard crouched before it.

He marches to the doorman, back straight and shoulders firm, and does hit utmost to project calm authority while requesting entrance.

*

Newt reemerges hours later, feeling as though he’d spent the day chasing an erumpent. Or perhaps caught in the choranaptyxic coil of an enlarged occamy for hours on end. He’s _tired_ in a bone-deep way, and he’s not entirely sure what to think about the end-results of his meeting. He steps aside to stretch, relishing the pops in his neck and spine as he twists and flexes, before joining the evening flow of bodies on the sidewalk.

He allows his mind to wander as he walks, stretching his legs after the august but cramped confines of MACUSA. He’s before the familiar brownstone in a blink, sneaking past the landlady like a common criminal before tapping gently on now-familiar double doors. Tina ushers him in and helps him out of his coat before setting him before the fire with a hot cup of tea, augmented with a generous dollop of brandy.

“How’d it go?” she asks nervously, after he’s driven the chill from his fingers. Newt swallows his tea, gamely withholding a grimace, and casts about for the proper way to frame his response.

“Well enough, I suppose,” he starts slowly. “I’m to face no prosecution for bringing my case into the city, so long as I leave at my scheduled time. I’ve received a commendation for ‘services to wizard-kind’, and Madam President promised me certain favors in return for remaining quiet on the subject, which I agreed to willingly enough.” He bravely drains his cup before continuing, finding no way to say it without blunting the edge. “I also spoke to her on your behalf.”

Tina’s eyes harden, and she sits down next to him. “ _Newt_. Explain.”

He runs his fingers over the edge of the cup, speaking to it instead of her. “MACUSA did itself a disservice by demoting you. You have good instincts, Tina, and that’s the most important thing in magical law enforcement.” He clears his throat, chances a look at her face, and pushes on. “They’re going to reinstate you and expunge the incident from your records. They’re also going to issue a formal apology. I _insisted_ upon that.” His voice hardens momentarily before dipping back into its normal dulcet tones.

Tina goes stock-still besides him, and Newt risks fleeting glances at her from the corner of his eye. When she makes no move to berate him or bodily remove him from her home, he forces his gaze onto her face, preparing to have to explain himself or defend his actions.

Tina’s lips are pursed to contain a tremble, and her eyes are swimming with tears. Newt’s heart leaps into his throat before crashing to his feet. A moment of fumbling produces a wrinkled but clean hankie, and he presses it into her hand before meeting her eyes. “There’s to be none of that,” he says in a tone that strives to be reassuring but falls to pleading. Tina blinks and firms her lip but makes no move to dry her eyes.

Newt doesn’t give himself a chance to _think_. Much like when he’s in the field, he falls back on action.

With care honed through years of working with dangerous creatures, Newt reclaims his kerchief. “Tina, please don’t cry,” he whispers while dabbing her face, touch infinitely gentle. “It was a gesture intended in kindness.” A tear swells and rolls down her cheek, and Newt, transfixed, unthinkingly sweeps it away with his thumb. Tina leans into the gesture and he redirects his hand to tuck her hair back soothingly.

Tina sighs and stares unabashedly, seeming to drink in his face. Newt allows his thoughts to wander into territory best left unchartered while they maintain intense eye contact. Her lips part, and his eyes drop momentarily to admire how soft and inviting they seem, how finely sculpted. From his peripheral vision, he can appreciate the creamy skin of her neck and chest. Best of all, he can take the full measure of her eyes, dark and liquid and unearthly, fixed unflinchingly on his.

_Spanish eyes_ , he thinks distantly, and then: _I wonder how they’d look in bed. I wonder how they’d look at me._ He imagines Tina, spread over his sheets and pressed against him, Stygian eyes darkened further still by a powerful, far more _primal_ emotion, and he sighs shakily as warmth infuses his limbs.

A throat clears delicately behind them. They spring apart, Newt’s hand dropping from her skin as if burned. Tina wrings her hands and clears her throat and tries to disappear into the couch cushions, while Newt grimaces and quickly puts up his wholly inadequate Occlumency shields. He can _feel_ Queenie curiously riffling through the dustbin of his thoughts, and he winces when she seizes upon his contemplations of a few moments earlier and his conversation with Picquery before working backwards.

She releases him abruptly, and the ensuing silence is suffocating. Newt swallows before chancing a look at her. Queenie smirks at him, looking far too smug for his tastes. He doesn’t hide his curiosity and her smirk unfurls into a smile. _You aren’t angry?_ he thinks, turning the thought into a spear and directing it at her, and she shakes her head hard enough for her strawberry curls to fly. Then she raises a delicate finger and lays it across her lips in the universal gesture for shushing. Newt grins unabashedly. _Our secret, then_.

They share a conspiratorial smile before Queenie turns to Tina and comforts her as only she can. Newt feels rather at a loose end until Queenie asks him to set the table, which he does without complaint. Then it’s time for supper, and cautious conversation, and if he and Tina smile a bit more than usual, or if her eyes are a bit _warmer_ when they touch upon his, well. He honestly can’t say he minds.

*


	3. December 10, 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **THIS IS THE T-RATED VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER! This chapter contains a good bit of spice, and it's darn suggestive, but no actual smut. The most sexual their contact gets is some heated kisses and fumbling, implied touches.**  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> **If you want the smut, go[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10020272), and have fun with it! ;)**

*

**_December 10, 1926_ **

“Teenie. Teenie! Criminy, Tina, wake _up_!”

Tina grunts and swats at the hand shaking her, clutching the unraveling edge of a lovely dream featuring her favorite magizoologist and his strong, scarred hands, before coming awake all at once.

“Queenie!” she gasps, and then glares at her alarm clock. “ _Queenie_. Why are you waking me up? It’s _not even midnight_!”

Queenie flutters and shushes her. “It’s Newt,” she says helplessly, and now Tina can see the tension in her sister’s frame. “He’s dreaming terrible things and he projects _awfully_ and I can’t block him out. Can’t you go wake him up?”

Tina growls in her throat while tossing back her blankets. “I _can_ ,” she bites out as she works her feet into her house shoes. “I just don’t see why _I_ have to do it. Couldn’t you go yourself?”

Queenie shakes her head and slips into her bed, suddenly timid. “Sorry, Teenie,” she says meekly. “It’s just...it’s not _me_ he wants to see when he wakes up. Ya know? Go to him, please. Make him some cocoa maybe. He’s sweet on you, you know.”

Tina scrubs at her face with her hand and ignores her sister’s declaration. “You’re all wet,” she growls. “But I’m up now so I guess I’ll go take care of this. Thanks a lot, Queenie.”

She doesn’t give Queenie a chance to respond, just eases the pocket door open and steps through. Her irritation evaporates as soon as it closes behind her, however, and sudden concern spurs her into picking her careful way over to the couch.

Newt is moaning in the back of his throat, and it isn’t a happy sound. Tina watches as he flinches into the cushion and utters a harsh bark of noise she thinks may be garbled words. Then he goes still for one, two, three seconds before shuddering deeply and crying out.

Tina reaches a hand toward him at the same instant Newt shakes himself awake, releasing a harsh breath of air and jerking upright. His forehead connects solidly with her outstretched hand and they both yelp—him in pain and her in surprise. Tina covers her mouth as an inappropriate bout of giggles sweeps over her, unable to repress her sudden outburst of morbid humor. Newt glowers and rubs his forehead ruefully before squinting at her.

“If you’d wanted to wake me Tina, there are better ways to go about it than _punching me in the head_ ,” he growls, and Tina bends double with renewed gusts of laughter. Newt grunts when she collapses bonelessly onto his legs, and Tina feels him twitch irritably against her while she begins the long, slow process of calming down.

“I’m sorry,” she finally gasps, wiping her eyes. Newt sits up to survey her properly, irritation bleeding away. He casually brushes her tears of mirth away with this thumb, causing Tina’s breath to catch in her throat. He then dries his fingers on his pajamas and stares at her in the dark, carefully and with no small amount of confusion. Tina smiles, but it feels wobbly on her face and she allows it to slip away.

“You were dreaming,” she says weakly, and he nods, jaw tight. “It woke up Queenie and she came to me. She wanted me to make sure you were okay, and I was reaching out to shake you when you sat up and, well...” She gestures vaguely and Newt blinks slowly. He swallows, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks to her mother’s afghan.

“So sorry, Tina,” he whispers. One finger winds around a loose thread in the blanket and Tina reaches out to catch his hand without thinking. She doesn’t move it away when he goes still, and he looks at it through wide eyes before continuing. “I’ve been dreaming the past two nights. I didn’t realize that your sister was subject to them. I will seek other lodging in the morning. I’ve no wish to be a burden.”

Tina squeezes his fingers. “We don’t want you to leave,” she reassures gently. Newt looks up at her tentatively. She squeezes him again, a little stronger. “Please stay. We enjoy having you here, truly.” Tina manages a small smile, and Newt releases a slow breath to relax against the arm of the couch.

“Well. If you insist,” he concedes finally, and Tina allows her smile to turn into a grin.

“I do.”

Newt turns his hand so their palms press together and wraps slender fingers around her wrist. He squeezes gently when Tina reciprocates the gesture, then searches her face before scissoring open his legs. “Here,” he says, and Tina rearranges herself until she’s seated between his knees. It’s a calculated risk—the gesture is improper and indecent and absolutely _perfect_ , especially when he tugs the blanket from beneath her and drapes it over them both. She can feel the bend of his knee and the coiled strength of his legs pressed against her back and hips. She sighs contently and leans into him.

“We shouldn’t sit like this,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving her face. “It’s highly inappropriate.”

Tina shrugs, genuinely unconcerned. “You _being_ here is inappropriate. The way we...the way we _look_ at each other is inappropriate. I’m not worried about it. Are you?”

Newt swallows and drops his eyes to the blanket. “No,” he says hoarsely. Then his eyes widen when her words sink in, and Tina bites her lip when he forces himself to look at her. “You said, ‘the way we look at each other’. Er, you—you noticed that?” He winces at his clumsy words and hurries on. “I’m sorry, I mean—I never meant to be improper. Only that you’re very...lovely. _Beautiful_ , really, and I can’t seem to—that is, my eyes, um.” He stalls and makes a helpless go-on gesture with his hand, and Tina allows him to flounder only for a moment before casting a line.

“ _Newt_. It’s either obscenely late or absurdly early, depending on your perspective. We are together on a couch, beneath a blanket, unchaperoned. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I _know_ you notice the way I look at you. It’s dark, it’s early, and we won’t talk about it in the morning.” She shrugs, trying desperately to project an air of confidence, but the slight tremor in her voice betrays her. “Neither of us will act on it.”

Newt _freezes_ , and his hand tightens on hers until her fingers creak in warning. Tina holds her breath and Newt stares before blinking hard and seeming to realize that he’s causing her pain. He relaxes and murmurs an apology. “So sorry,” he breathes—then he lifts her hand to his mouth and she can _feel_ his words when his lips brush against her knuckles. 

Goosebumps race up Tina’s arm at the contact, and she sees the answering shiver that works through Newt. His gaze doesn’t waver when he repeats the gesture, a bold amplification of seconds earlier. Then he rotates her hand and his lips pepper her palm, her wrist, and the soft skin of her forearm.

“Tell me to stop,” he manages between kisses, and the bass note of his voice goes straight through her. She shakes her head in the negative, hair flying, and he hums as he kisses his way to her elbow, pushing the sleeve of her pajamas out of the way. Newt leans forward to kiss her shoulder, making an impatient sound when that reach proves far too short. Tina rolls onto her knees and settles against his thigh. His mouth bypasses her upper arm and shoulder to hone in unerringly on her throat, and thinking suddenly becomes very, very difficult.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he reminds her, but his mouth works in direct contrast to his words, kissing up the column of her neck before nibbling the hinge of her jaw. His tongue tastes her skin and she gasps, unwilling and unable to smother the sound. He hums encouragingly and skims his lips over her skin to her ear. He kisses the soft skin at her hairline and Tina jerks against him.

“Newton Scamander, don’t you _dare_ stop,” she gasps as she clutches the blanket, and he huffs and drags a line of kisses across her cheek. He stops just sort of her mouth, hovering uncertainly, and Tina’s eyes drift close. His voice trembles when he speaks, pitched almost too low for her ears.

“M-may I kiss you, Tina?”

A tingle spreads through her as he breathes into her skin. She’s smiling slightly when she turns her head and allows him to capture her lips in a kiss that is _anything_ but awkward. His mouth claims hers, lips and tongue working in harmony to thoroughly unhinge her. He works her with confidence and no small amount of possession, and she sighs happily. He opens his mouth and inhales the sound, warming it in himself before returning it to her as a gasp.

Newt’s fingers tangle in her hair, and he breaks the kiss to trail a wet line down her neck. “So lovely,” he breathes in awe as he presses his lips over her voice box. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” Newt repeats shakily, fingers releasing her hair to smooth over her scalp. He kisses her cheek chastely, and Tina sighs and tips their foreheads together. Lazy warmth works through her when his teeth find her skin and nip, just this side of too-hard, and she makes a helpless sound.

“I want to do this,” she promises, and leans into him to find the lobe of his ear... 

*

“Will you join me, Tina?” he asks afterwards, and she wastes no time draping herself besides him. The couch is narrow, and they are pressed together from shoulder to thigh. He rolls onto his side and wraps an arm around her, and she can feel the weight of his gaze as he worshipfully traces her profile with his eyes. He shifts to cover them with the blankets.

“You’re very beautiful,” he breathes as he trails a series of small kisses along her temple. He hums and cards his fingers through her hair before dragging his hand over her neck to trace senseless patterns into the flannel covering her shoulder. He yawns widely enough to crack his jaw and Tina closes her eyes as his arm settles around her. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” he whispers.

Delicate fingers trace the spur of bone at his wrist before Tina finds his scar-flecked forearm and draws lines between each one, creating constellations against the map of his skin. She traces his sinewy muscles and hums when he sighs, fluttering her eyes open long enough to watch his drift closed.

Tina falls asleep to the soothing sound of his heart beating in her ear, a small smile playing about her lips.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: Next update will be Saturday, March 4th. I have something special up my sleeve for Friday, March 3rd--which is the day I head-canon as Newt's birthday... ;)


	4. December 11, 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is the T-rated, very non-explicit version of this chapter. If you want the smut, go[HERE to read it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10020272/chapters/22459427).**

*

**_December 11, 1926_ **

Newt is awakened by a musical burst of feminine laughter. It takes him a disorienting moment to realize that it doesn’t come from his bedmate—couch-mate?—but rather from the other side of the room.

He cracks open one eye, wincing when it’s speared by weak sunlight, and takes a cautious look around. Queenie stands by the bedroom doors, wand held loosely in her fingers and gaze mock-stern as she takes them in. “Well, it looks like _somebody_ had a good night!” She exclaims, and Newt feels heat flood his face.

“Um—er—” he says eloquently, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Queenie slaps her hands over her mouth and giggles madly, doing an odd little bounce where she stands. “Oh, Mr. Scamander,” she gushes. “You’ve no idea how happy Teenie will be! She’s been mooning over you for days. She may have even had a daydream or two.” She winks saucily, and his mind goes back to how they’d defiled the couch last night.

Newt shakes his head briskly to drive _that_ image away before turning to observe Tina. She’s still deeply asleep, lips parted in gentle snores. He very slowly extricates his numb right arm from beneath her, careful not to disturb her rest, and discreetly checks to make sure his pajamas are fastened before sliding out from under the covers.

He winces at the pins and needles in his arm as he rubs feeling back into it, and his mind inevitably returns to their pleasant activities of the previous evening. He watches Tina sleep, smiling slightly as her face flashes through his mind: blissed-out and satisfied, focused and hungry, delicate hands rubbing against his—

“ _Yech!_ ” Queenie groans, closing her eyes. “It’s bad enough you two forgot your privacy charms, I _do not_ need to see my sister in that state!” She winces prettily and delicately rubs her temples. Newt hastily pushes all thoughts of Tina to the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to her feet. “Next time, we’ll make sure to use the proper precautions. Um, assuming there is a...next time.” He finishes with a wheeze, aware of just how _bad_ it sounds, but Queenie smiles gently and lets him off the hook. His arm has regained feeling so he drops his hand and squints out the window before glancing at the clock. “It’s quite early, Miss Goldstein. What are you doing awake?”

“Call me Queenie,” she says with a fragrant wave, and Newt inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Tina’s alarm woke me, actually. She’s going back to work today and I was getting up to make breakfast. She wasn’t in her bed and I wondered where she was, but I wasn’t expecting to find you two wrapped around each other.” S

he flashes a teasing smile but grows serious as she sets about preparing eggs and toast. “You two could be good together, Mr. Scamander. I know how you think about her. Promise me you’ll do your best to make her happy.”

Newt discovered early on that looking at Queenie wasn’t nearly as difficult as looking at other people. Possibly because he has no interest in her outside of their strange, tentative friendship, or maybe because she reminds him so strongly of Jacob — someone else he’d rarely averted his eyes around. Either way, he finds himself mostly comfortable with watching her cheek and jaw as he fumbles around his own mind, trying to find the easiest way to voice his thoughts.

“I’ll do my best,” he finally settles on, knowing how weak and insufficient it sounds. Queenie can see the truth of the statement in his heart however, and she beams.

“That’s all I ask,” she chirps as she turns back to the stove. “I can’t have my Jacob but Tina...well, as long as she gets her Newt, I guess I’m happy.”

_Jacob. Jacob!_

A nebulous, half-formed idea solidifies and lands with an almost audible _thump_ in the fore of his mind, and his companion stiffens and whirls to face him. She appears to be struggling against a radiant smile, unwilling to give in to hope just yet but unable to refrain entirely. Newt struggles to untangle the threads of his thoughts and push them _forward_ , allowing her to view them. She gives in, a smile as bright and golden as sunshine spreading across her face.

“Mr. Scamander,” she breathes. “He’d be able to get his bakery. Oh, it would make him so happy!”

She crosses the room and enfolds him in a floral embrace, as light as air against him. Newt gives her a token pat on the back and she beams at him when she turns away to skip back to the stove. He watches her bemusedly, warmth infusing his chest at her obvious joy, and wonders if this is what it feels like to be an older brother.

“I’d imagine so,” she chirps, and he rolls his eyes gently. “You should go wake Tina up,” she goes on, cracking eggs into a skillet. “I think she’d rather see you first thing. Be sure and give her a sound one, right on the kisser!”

Newt chooses not to dignify that with a response, instead ambling into the living room. He ensures his bedclothes are straight and runs a distracted hand over his hair in a useless attempt at smoothing it. He perches gingerly on the edge of the couch and takes her hand, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb over her smooth skin. “Tina,” he croons. “Tina, love, it’s time to get up.”

Tina makes a soft sound in her sleep and shifts, her hand tightening around his. Newt squeezes where they are connected and brushes a knuckle over her cheek. “Come on, Tina.” He finds he can’t use his normal tone of voice, instead gentling it to something he’d use with an injured or scared creature. “Wake up, you return to work today.”

Tina comes awake all at once, eyes blinking open and landing on him with startling focus. “Newt?” she asks, squinting in confusion before sitting up and looking around. She glances at the clock, at him, and down at herself before returning her eyes to him. “Um, last night...that wasn’t a dream, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t!” Queenie calls breezily from the kitchen, and Newt tosses her an annoyed glare over his shoulder. _Bugger out of the conversation,_ he thinks at her, only half-joking, and she snorts laughter into the toast she’s buttering.

“It was not,” he says much more calmly to Tina. She swallows and looks at his fingers, holding hers warmly, before covering the hand pressed to her cheek with her own.

“ _Good_ ,” she says emphatically, and leans forward to kiss him.

It’s slower and softer than many of the kisses shared the previous evening, but no less passionate. He sighs when they eventually part, before leaning in to place a line of small nibbles along her cheek. “My, you are good at that,” she breathes into his ear, and he feels the shiver that runs through her. Tina wraps her arms about his waist and pulls him close, and he melts into it while inhaling the clean scent of her hair.

“That’s enough of that,” Queenie says softly, sounding apologetic. “Tina, you’ve got work and just barely enough time to get ready. Mr. Scamander, I need your help with a few things today, if you don’t mind. Close the bank, you two.”

Thoroughly chastised—though in the nicest way possible—Newt untangles himself from Tina and helps her up. She brushes her mouth over his cheek fleetingly before wandering toward the kitchen and sitting down to Queenie’s sumptuous breakfast. She makes an irritated sound when she glances at the clock before bolting eggs and toast and washing it down with strong, black coffee. Newt and Queenie eat at a more leisurely pace, and wait until Tina’s safely ensconced in the bathroom before making plans.

“This morning,” Newt says urgently, and Queenie nods.

“We’ll go and feel things out, see what’s what. Tina and I have work tomorrow, so you can do it then, or you can drop it off tonight. We’ll see after we snoop a bit!” She speaks rapidly out of the corner of her mouth, and then pastes on a smile when Tina returns to the apartment.

“No hot water,” Tina growls as she slams the door behind her. “I don’t know why that keeps happening, but I had to take a whores bath in the sink. I’m going to feel filthy all day.” Newt focuses very hard on the fork in his hand and does his utmost _not_ to think about the activities that had led to her feeling so dirty. He suspects he does a bad job of it, if the blush infusing Queenie’s face is any indication. _Sorry_ he thinks, and she waves a hand weakly.

“Well, I have to go.” Tina says after sending a hard look his way. Newt scrambles to his feet, very nearly slipping in his haste, and walks her to the door.

“When will you be home?” he asks while helping her into her jacket.

“I’m not sure,” she replies, looking nervous. “It depends on a lot of things, but I’ll try to be home early. I’d like to spend some time with you tonight. Talking and...other things...” She trails off and chews her lip. Newt leans forward to displace her teeth, nibbling her lip gently before kissing her soundly.

“Talking and ‘other things’ sounds wonderful to me,” he reassures in a whisper as a slow smile spreads across his face. “Now, off you go. Mustn't be late on your first day back. Do try and stay out of trouble, Tina. I only have so many favors to call upon.”

Tina laughs and pecks his forehead before hurrying out the door. He hovers until he hears the front door close behind her; then he sighs and closes his eyes, leaning against the wood and trying to reign in the whirl of his thoughts.

“You got a lot goin’ on up there, Mr. Scamander,” Queenie says dryly. “Don’t worry, she’s just as happy and confused as you are. You two are made for each other.” She hums thoughtfully, and Newt hears the sounds of her getting dressed. He carefully keeps his eyes averted until she’s finished. 

“Now c’mon, let’s go track down my Jacob.”

Newt fetches his clothes and strides toward his case. “Allow me to feed my creatures. You can help, if you’d like. It’ll go much faster that way. And please, call me Newt.”

“Newt,” she chirps, following him. “I can do that. Let’s get these beasts fed so we can hit the road!”

*

Finding Jacob’s factory is easier than either of them anticipate, and they hover outside the gates in hopes of catching a glimpse of him until a foreman drives them off. “He’s lucky I didn’t hex his soupbone off!” Queenie seethes as she strides away, and Newt makes a careful mental note to never end up on the working end of her wand. She throws him a half-amused, half-frustrated look and he ventures a timid smile.

“It isn’t entirely bad,” he gentles. “We now know what shift Jacob works, and what time he will be relieved. I will come back later and drop the case. You won’t be able to see him, but I’ll let you take it from my mind, if you’d like. If it wouldn’t be a bother, I could use some help gathering the occamy shells. Perhaps you’d accompany me when we return to the flat?”

“Apartment,” she corrects airily, and drops a teasing wink. It’s enough to restore her good mood, however, and Newt flushes with relief before allowing her to lead him to a local café. She treats him to a serviceable scone and over-steeped tea, and Newt carefully hands over the last of his American currency. “I’ve no use for this,” he explains awkwardly, “and I won’t be an undue burden on either of you. Please take it, with my thanks.”

Queenie tucks the money into her coin purse without a word, still smiling softly at him. “You really are a good man, Newt Scamander,” she tells him softly, and he isn’t sure what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he drinks his tea and tracks the flow of people around the establishment, absently chewing his scone before allowing her to lead him back to the brownstone.

*

Newt uses a Gemino spell to replicate his case, and employs a slick bit of magic to reproduce the bad clasp. Queenie helps him fill it with silver occamy shells until the sides of the case groan, and Newt employs a few minor charms to help him heft it.

Returning to the factory is a calculated risk, but one he’s willing to take. It breaks his heart a little to leave Queenie behind, but he meant what he said: he would record it all with his well-ordered mind and let her drink it from him later. He reflects fondly on how novel and bizarre it is, to be welcomed by not one woman but _two_ , before Disapparating to the factory and disillusioning himself until the change-of-shift horn sounds.

In the end, it goes off better than he could have hoped. He times it well and stays out of sight until he’s within feet of Jacob. Then he bumps into him in a calculated move and, quick as a flash, swaps the cases. 

“So sorry — sorry!” He infuses his voice with as much of his so-called ‘accent’ as he’s able to muster, hoping that it may jog some stray memory of Jacob’s, before moving swiftly and purposefully through the crowd.

Newt ducks into a convenient alley and watches Jake struggle onward with his new, heavier load. _It’s all in Merlin’s hands now_ , he thinks, but he can’t suppress the grin that spreads across his face.

*

Newt shares the memory with Queenie, as promised, and she drinks it from his head slowly, relishing it like fine wine. He’s careful to relegate his thoughts and feelings about Tina to the _back_ of his head while she pokes around, and she sighs wetly when she finally releases him. “He’ll be fine now,” she says, and Newt debates sharing a theory with her. In the end, he can’t stand to see her suffer, so he worries his hands and wonders how to broach the subject.

She feeds him soup heavy with vegetables, and Newt waits until the bowls are pushed away before giving her his full attention. “There may be a way for him to remember,” he begins slowly. “The Swooping Evil venom—in my trials, it only worked on _bad_ memories. Positive memories were sometimes tarnished, but they usually remained almost entirely intact.” He watches the hope dawning across her features and clears his throat roughly. “Jacob may yet be able to remember you, and us, if his memory were to be properly jogged. Say, by seeing an individual for whom he has a certain...affection.”

Queenie crows with delight before flicking her wand to clean up their supper. “Oh, Newt!” she enthuses, hands clasped between her breasts. “That would be swell! Oh, I’ll have to go visit his bakery for sure now!”

He nods, glad she understands his meaning, before allowing her to shoo him from the kitchen. He climbs into his case to tend to the creatures, spending extra time with the depressed erumpent and stroking the occamy’s, chasing the niffler and delousing the demiguise before returning to the apartment and nursing a glass of Dragon’s Fire whiskey.

“You’re sleeping in the bedroom tonight. I’ll take the couch,” Queenie murmurs after a time, and he raises his glass to indicate his thanks.

“Pour me one’a those, would ya?” She asks, so he does, and they sit and sip their drinks in companionable silence, Queenie working on a new and lovely dove gray dress while he flips through one of Tina’s charms books. The clock chimes nine and she makes an unhappy sound before glaring at it.

“I’m sorry, Newt,” she sighs, and she sounds it. “I have to go in early tomorrow for some stupid meeting. I’m going to have to ask you to go into the bedroom so I can get my beauty sleep.”

Newt shrugs and drains his glass before sending it to the sink. He fetches his bag and sneaks to the bathroom to perform his evening toilet while Queenie dresses the couch. When he returns, she’s already in her nightclothes and the couch is prettily made with linens. “You can lay down in Teenie’s bed,” she says with a giggle. “Whatever you do, don’t _do_ anything in mine. I don’t need to be thinking about it.”

Newt swallows as he feels his ears heat up. “We’ll be careful, Queenie,” he promises, and she grows serious.

“I know you will, honey,” she says, giving him a gentle, one-armed hug. “You treat my sister right tonight. Don’t go giving her any trouble.” She drops a soft kiss on his cheek before floating away, and he watches until she’s out of the room and the door is closed firmly behind her.

“Trouble. Right,” he muses, and tucks himself into Tina’s bed. Her searches her selection of books until he finds a likely candidate, and turns to the index in search of a very specific spell. Then he settles down to read, one part of his brain on high-alert for any sign of his woman.

*

Newt’s drowsing and nearly asleep when Tina materializes before him, looking slightly wild and very worried. “I am _so sorry_ ,” she bursts out in a whisper, reaching up to yank off her cloche hat. “We found Mr. Graves and it was a mess while we got all that sorted out. I had to stay and help because we didn’t have enough security.”

Newt comes awake in an instant. “They found Graves? Is he well?”

Tina sighs and shrugs out of her jacket before pulling her blouse from her trousers. “No,” she says finally, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I don’t know what Grindelwald did to him but it wasn’t pretty. He just babbled when we tried to talk to him. He was badly injured and delirious with pain.” She grimaces delicately and bends to pull off her brogues. Then she leans to brush her mouth against his. “I’m beat. Gimme a few to clean up, then I’ll come to bed.”

He nods and watches her steal out of the room. He returns her book to it’s rightful spot and smooths the sheets while he waits, mind drifting along without any conscious oversight, diligently researched spell forgotten. Tina returns after a short while and he can smell her soap. She hesitates for only a moment before pulling off her blouse and trousers. She looks at him carefully, almost shyly as she stands in her foundation garments. “Um. Do you still want to do...that?”

Newt nods and gives her his softest smile. “Of course, Tina. If you’re still willing, that is.” 

He watches her swallow before loosening and peeling off her girdle and stockings, and dropping her step-ins. She reaches for her pajamas and Newt clears his throat gently. She glances at him and he shakes his head once, quickly. Tina narrows her eyes at her bed clothes before returning them to the wardrobe. Then she’s crossing the room, moonstone skin glowing in the low light that shades her curves and angles, and Newt’s throat goes dry...

*

Tina’s fingers brush the length of his spine as she murmurs sweetly in his ear. Newt kisses her before settling at her side and flinging a freckled forearm over his eyes. Tina rolls to brush her fingertips over his chest and stomach, trailing goosebumps in their wake. He shivers beneath her touch until he can think linearly, thoughts falling into their usual pattern. 

He catches her wrist and kisses her palm, insecurity stealing into his chest. “How was that?” he asks, nervous of the answer but unable to let it go, and his Tina hums thoughtfully. She takes his hand and threads their fingers together, her mouth finding an enticing scar on his chest to kiss curiously. He relaxes under the gentle press of her lips.

“Perfect,” she finally says, and he chooses to believe her. “I...Newt, I’ve never felt…”

Newt raises his arm and cracks an eye open to watch her as she ducks her head and blushes. He smooths a hand over her rumpled hair while his thoughts flow like honey, mellow and golden. It takes a while to come up with a suitable reply.

“It wasn’t entirely me,” he finally settles on. “You helped yourself.”

Tina shakes her head. “Not really,” she insists. “You did it all. You made me feel _wanted_.” Her eyes skip away shyly and Newt reflects on this. He leans in to kiss her lazily, and she smiles when he pulls away. “It was wonderful,” she decides, and she is a warm and sated weight where she presses against him, eyes hazy with afterglow.

“It was,” he agrees, and Tina tucks herself into his side. Her fingers draw lines between the freckles dotting his chest, and Newt closes his eyes and allows his mind to drift serenely. “We should do that again,” he mumbles, half asleep and not thinking, and Tina’s laughter thrums through him and warms him from without.

“We should,” she concurs, and he smiles and knows no more.

*


	5. December 12, 1926

*

**_December 12, 1926_ **

The first thing Tina notices upon waking is the pounding in her ear, slow and rhythmic. _Like a tribal drum_ , she thinks, and cracks open an eye to investigate. She’s greeted by an expanse of warm, slightly tacky skin, flecked with all manner of imperfections. She lifts her head with a smile to discover that her pillow is the chest of her bedmate, who is deeply asleep and breathing in slow draws. Newt’s pulse flutters at his throat, and she very stoically ignores the urge to lean forward and taste it.

_Save that for later,_ she tells herself, and a thrill works through her. She carefully extricates herself from her companion and brings the alarm clock to her face, reading the time with a sigh. She turns off the alarm and gathers her items for the day. 

Tina turns when she reaches the door and tiptoes back to the bed to tuck the covers more tightly around him. Newt sighs and shifts before settling back into sleep, and Tina brushes her lips across his forehead before beating a hasty retreat.

_I could love him,_ she allows herself to admit as she performs her morning ablutions. The sun hasn’t risen yet and so, in the dark, she can think thoughts best left hidden under the cover of darkness. _And I think he could love me too, if things were different_.

It’s a bitter realization, the miles soon to come between them and how it forces their temporary closeness—so she pushes it aside while she brushes her teeth and uses the toilet. She flushes with a realizing jolt, before taking up her wand and pointing it at her abdomen, lip caught between her teeth in momentary indecision before firming her resolve.

The spell is powerful, designed specifically for female Auror's, and it sinks in with a vibrating chill. She shivers as a flash of blue light works through the room before sighing and smothering a confusing pang of remorse. _Firm up, Goldstein. It’s not you to get all dewy-eyed over a fella, especially not one who’s leaving in two days. He’s hitting on all sixes for now but you have no guarantee he won’t forget you the moment he’s on that boat. You’re made of sterner stuff than this. Leave the mooning around to Queenie!_

Tina doesn’t honestly believe he’ll forget her—his hands and mouth _directly_ refute that construct—and thinking of Queenie makes her unbearably sad, so she pushes those thoughts aside once more and trundles around in neutral as she prepares her own small breakfast, allowing Queenie to get some extra sleep until she has to rise. Then the sun is up and it’s time to go, and she can find no more excuses to tarry.

She checks on Queenie, finding her sister sprawled inelegantly and snoring, and huffs a laugh. Then she steals into the bedroom, expecting to find a sleeping magizoologist. Instead, she’s greeted by bright blue eyes and a tentative smile. He sits up against the pillow and yawns expansively before patting the space besides him.

“Do you typically leave a bloke to wake up alone after a night of making love?”

His teasing is gentle, but Tina winces nonetheless as she crosses the room. She sits and takes his hands in hers, feeling the sleepy warmth radiating off of him and wishing for nothing more than to crawl into bed besides him, to burrow beneath the covers and while the day away. Instead, she pushes an errant curl off his forehead and smiles cautiously.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to. I have to head into work early to help with the Graves mess, and you looked comfortable. I was only just coming in to make sure that you were warm enough. We have more blankets if you need them.”

Newt leans back and smiles at her crookedly. It does something strange to Tina’s stomach and chest, and she squirms in an attempt to hide her reaction. His eyes focus on her while his smile widens and deepens, until he’s staring unabashedly. “I’m warm enough, I suppose.” His smoky tone curls lazily around her. She shivers and clenches his hands harder.

“That’s good,” she stammers, and he drops his head to look at her from beneath his eyebrows.

“What time do you have to leave?” She isn’t sure if he’s teasing or genuinely interested in the answer. Tina takes a fortifying breath before cutting her eyes to the alarm clock.

“Five minutes ago,” she says crisply, and he shoots the clock a dirty look. Tina laughs and leans forward to steal a kiss. He hums into it, deepens it, and they’re both slightly breathless when she pulls away. “Now it’s eight minutes,” she quips, and he laughs and releases her.

“May I bring you lunch?” he asks while she smoothes her clothes, and Tina gapes, momentarily flummoxed. She tucks and straightens her blouse while she ponders, and finally decides to take a chance on cautious optimism.

“Yean, sure. Um, sometime around noon should be good.”

“Noon. That’s settled, then. Shall I bring you a sandwich?”

“Yes, please. Go to Katz’s deli, down on Sixth. They have the best Reuben in the city.”

Newt nods. He reaches out to touch the back of her hand with one finger, swirling a senseless pattern into her skin while gazing into her face. “Katz’s Reuben,” he intones softly, but Tina thinks, perhaps, they aren’t actually talking about _food_ any more.

She swallows down the lump in her throat. Then he relinquishes her hand and she flees, face burning. She doesn’t look back.

*

Noon winds up being closer to 1 o’clock, and Newt waits patiently with his grease-speckled paper sack as Tina ties up loose ends. They eat at her desk, spreading sandwiches and chips over the space while Tina catches him up on their investigation into Grindelwald and how he managed to get the drop on Graves.

“Mr. Graves is _strong_ ,” Tina maintains while biting into a chip with relish. She crunches thoughtfully before continuing. “I guess I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“Grindelwald is a farce, but he is a capable duelist,” Newt sniffs with a curl of his lip, and Tina feels her eyebrows creep into her hairline. “Yet, he daren’t return to England because he fears Dumbledore. He wants to be a revolutionary but all he succeeds at being is a _coward_. Wizards like him start wars, but rarely finish them. People die, and it’s all for naught.” A shadow crosses his face. Tina is deeply intrigued but wisely decides not to pursue the topic.

“What are your plans for today?” She asks instead. The subject change is far from subtle, but it wipes the sneer off Newt’s face so she considers it a clumsy victory.

His plans are apparently a safe topic because he relaxes and sets aside his food. “I’m spending it in the case. The Fwooper needs its silencing charm refreshed, and a few of the habitats require maintenance before I set sail.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat briskly before continuing. “I’ll be down there well into the night. You’re welcome to come join me this evening; I’d quite like your company.”

The last bit is mumbled to his sandwich, and Tina smiles gently. “I’d like that,” she confesses softly, and he chances a look at her. Then he brushes her hand with the tips of his fingers and glances at the clock.

“I suppose I should go,” he says regretfully, standing to pull on his blue coat, and Tina steps around her desk to lace their fingers together. He stares at where they are joined before meeting her gaze. His left hand rises and tenderly brushes her hair away from her wide eyes. Then he leans in, slowly enough to give her an opportunity to deny him, and touches his mouth to hers. “ _Tina_ ,” he murmurs, low and slow, and his eyes smile into hers.

“Later,” she promises, untangling their fingers to clutch the lapel of his jacket and pull him close, breathing the words against his lips. She isn’t entirely sure what she’s committing to, only that it’s the right thing. “Later, Newt.” He hums and deepens the kiss, making her hands and chest buzz and her heart pound, and catches her bottom lip between his teeth before reluctantly stepping away.

Tina’s lips tingle for the rest of the afternoon, and she finds herself touching them at the oddest moments, a secret smile playing around her mouth.

*

She’s home earlier than she expected, and Queenie makes herself scarce while Tina strips off her jacket and hangs up her hat. The case sits besides the couch, lid open in implicit invitation, and Tina feels the tingle of strong protective magic when she steps out of her sitting room and into another world.

Newt’s shed is as crowded and cacophonous as she remembers, and the pungent aroma of herbs fills her nose. She breathes deeply, allowing the last threads of lingering tension to seep out of her, before crossing the threshold into Newt’s secret heart.

She wanders through most of the habitats before she finds him, dwarfed by the looming male Graphorn as he clucks soothingly and works on the beasts hoof. “There you are,” he croons as he strokes the beast’s shanks, and the creature woofs and snorts at him. Newt releases the beast's leg soon after dabbing on a poultice, and the creatures butts him with its tentacled head before loping away.

Newt meanders over to her while wiping his face and hands on a stained rag. “Hello,” he murmurs happily in greeting, and it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to lean over and kiss him. He accepts her kiss but doesn’t deepen it, tipping his forehead into hers and breathing her air. “You _are_ good at that,” he sighs, and she smirks at him before stepping back and allowing him to lead her.

Tina’s quickly realizes that Newt’s idea of ‘helping’ is more akin to ‘observing’ as they go from habitat to habitat, shoring up spells and securing those things which shouldn’t be handled with magic. He feeds and waters his creatures along the way, always stopping to pet, pat, grunt, snort or squeal at them as needed, before ending up in Frank’s old enclosure. Newt hoists himself onto the flat rock guarding the entrance of the habitat and pats the space besides him. 

“On you hop, Tina.”

She lopes up besides him and leans companionably into his side. He places his arm around her and they look up to watch the enchanted stars scattered like jewels above them, shrouded in comfortable silence as the artificial darkness embraces them.

“You don’t get to see too many stars, here in the city,” she murmurs eventually, and he nods in understanding.

“I couldn’t imagine living so separate from nature,” he sighs. He turns his head to look at her face and Tina’s breath catches in her throat. His wide eyes are bathed in starlight, with the silvery sliver of moon reflected in his pupils. Tina lifts a dazzled hand to touch his cheek and he sways closer to her, drawn in by her fascination.

They kiss beneath winking constellations—twined mouths moving patiently together, their embrace tender and slow as the strange, tentative affection between them swells and consumes, until it becomes larger than them both. Her Newt stands, takes her hand, and she willingly drowns in his gaze.

“Can I stay down here with you tonight?” Tina asks, inexplicably nervous but brave. She cups his cheek and he presses into it with a choked sound, eyes filling with moisture.

“Please stay. I would very much like to smell you on my pillow after I’ve gone.”

_That’s the closest we can ever get to saying goodbye_ , she thinks, and allows him to lead her to his shed.

Newt has a narrow cot tucked beneath the bench, and he pulls it out and expands it to accommodate them both. He casts privacy charms and noise dampening spells, and Tina smiles her thanks as he sets his wand aside with trembling hands. He steps into her space and kisses her until they’re both rendered breathless and intent, his eyes shining with emotions better left unspoken.

They undress each other slowly, carefully, marveling over buttons and cuff-links and lace ruffs, reveling in every inch of skin revealed. Newt tastes her from above and below, making her heart race; making her _want_ him. He pulls her into the bed when they are both divested of their garments, and she climbs into his lap, his strong thighs curled beneath hers, arms on each other’s shoulders. They don’t lower the lights.

Tina accepts him with a ragged sigh, rocking them together until they move in short, syncopated harmony. His arms pull her close, his hands wandering over her neck and back and shoulders, his mouth seraphic on her lips, her cheeks, her jaw. He breathes promises into the shadows of her skin and kisses her without reservation. Tina gasps his name brokenly and he swallows it with a sigh.

Tina skims the crest until her limbs quiver with exhaustion. Her Newt supports her as he shifts them, pressing her into his pillow while covering her body with his own. She places a hand over his heart, finding his eyes and holding them as he rolls against her, breathing together in perfect synchronicity. She trails her fingertips up his arms, digs her blunt nails into his shoulders and biceps as the tension builds, and her name takes the form of a shaky exhale when he is released.

She cradles him in the aftermath, his calloused fingers painting her skin. There’s moisture staining his cheeks but then, hers are damp too. He kisses her tears away and murmurs her name—a benediction and a plea. Tina drinks in his eyes and commits his features to memory. She kisses his mouth but does not say his name. It isn’t an absolution she feels equipped to give.

Newt tucks her hair behind her ear and presses his lips to her forehead before shifting to the side to curl around her. The blankets smell like him when they settle over her. Tina huddles into his skin, until they can’t tell where she ends and he begins, and buries her face in his neck to inhale deeply.

They sleep in cycles—sometimes talking, when the silence presses too close, always touching and teasing, constantly mapping and learning each other. Dawn finds them face-to-face, inspired once more to love. Newt presses their palms together and laces their fingers, gasping her name at the end. Tina carefully tucks the sound away in the keepsake of her heart.

Then sunlight seeps in from above, and they hide their themselves beneath the blanket to protect their comforting little universe for just a moment longer.

*


	6. December 13, 1926

*

**_December 13, 1926_ **

Newt knows he is not an introspective man. Pragmatic, yes; compassionate, always, and harshly romantic when required. He knows he possesses an expansive heart and the determination to do the right thing, at any cost. More importantly, he knows he sustains the _will_ to see these things through. The harsh dichotomy at the core of his nature has never warranted much of his time or attention. Why should it, when there was so much of the world without yet to discover?

Tina Goldstein is a different sort of beast for him all together, she and her magnificent eyes. He can admit to himself that’s what he’d first noticed about her: her eyes, large and dark and _unflinching_ when set on him. Her mouth came next, and wondering distantly how it would feel against his own. A dawning awareness of the rest of her soon followed, hastened by when she’d made the leap—and not just of faith—straight into his arms.

Then came the speakeasy, and the dress, and the realization that Tina was every inch a _woman_. Probably more woman than he could ever hope to handle, but Newt has never been known to back away from a challenge.

She takes him home and scrapes together the pieces of him after the subway battle, and allows him to stay. She soothes him from his nightmares—sometimes of the girl in Sudan, sometimes of Graves and his torture, but usually of her distress as they were being led to the Death Chamber—and gives him the stuff pleasant dreams are made of instead. She shares herself with him, allows him to experience her naked and _wanting_ , and implores him to alleviate _her_ aches.

Tina draws him to her flame again the next night, and the night after. _You need a giver_ , Queenie had said, and he thinks he’s beginning to understand what she means. Tina, his Tina, gives and gives and asks for nothing in return. He takes and takes, because he is helpless to do otherwise, and she doesn’t complain. Seems to revel in the giving, in fact.

Now it’s his last full day in New York. _Their_ last day together. And, for the first time in the entirety of his life, the world outside pales in comparison to the one here, locked in this apartment and _close to her_. It’s too big, too loud; it’s gray and without feature or magic; it doesn’t compare to her, and he is no longer sure that forcing himself out the door and back to his duties is worth the pain of loss.

_How hard you’ve fallen for her,_ he thinks, and puts his head in his hands.

*

Tina is gray today too, he notes. She spends some of her time in the case with him but more of it upstairs with Queenie. Sometimes, when he walks into his shed to fetch some item or another, he can hear the soft murmur of their voices, tones modulated and comfortable. The sound fills his chest with some unknown emotion. It puts him in mind of cozy blankets and wooded glens and warm hearths. It makes him long for a home he does not have, and Newt bitterly shores his resolve and hardens himself to the coming, inevitable despair.

_You’re leaving_ , he reminds himself sternly, and winces when his internal voice laughs derisively at him.

*

Their last supper is a strained affair.

Queenie tries to lift them both, but the heavy pall of their thoughts weighs her down. By the time they’re finishing dessert, she’s choking on repressed tears and throwing them pitying looks. Newt wants to reassure them both that everything will work out, but he can’t even convince _himself_ of that, so he keeps his eyes riveted to the tablecloth and says nothing.

Tina watches miserably when Queenie beats a hasty retreat. Newt makes a heroic effort to rally. “It’s not all bad,” he croaks around the lump in his throat. “I will write to you each week, and I’m sure to come through New York again. Perhaps we can see each other then.” 

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words out of his mouth. Tina’s lips wobble but her eyes harden, snapping at him from across the table.

“Wouldn’t want to be an inconvenient _afterthought_ , Mr. Scamander,” she seethes, and flings her napkin down before retreating unsteadily to the bedroom. The pocket door snaps closed behind her, and he winces and returns his eyes to the table.

_There. Happy now?_

“No,” he says miserably, and rises to wash the dishes by hand as penance.

*

The fire has burned low, and Newt is...if not drunk, then well on the way to it. Everything has a pleasantly soft, _fuzzy_ quality, and he tosses back the whiskey in his glass before squinting at it morosely. That’s the last of it, and he won’t be able to procure more until he lands in England. Not legally, at any rate, and certainly not at this hour. He sighs and rolls his head against the back of the couch, eyes closing in pained self-reproach.

“Are you okay?”

It’s little more than a whisper but it’s enough to make him start violently. He’s reminded of the last time he received a fright on this couch, and his mind instantly recalls events that are entirely the _wrong_ thing to think about while attempting to drink away his troubles. Tears fill his eyes and he wipes them away briskly.

“...Fine. ’M fine.”

Tina sits next to him gingerly, perched on the edge of a cushion like a beast poised to flee should the need arise. She takes in the empty bottle and cloudy glass and frowns disapprovingly. “You know that’s illegal here,” she says, tone sharp, and Newt snorts disdainfully and snaps his head up.

“ _Bollocks_ to your contrary laws,” he growls, and Tina blinks. He swallows down the bile coating the back of his throat before taking a fortifying breath and letting it out slowly, regaining tentative control of his anger and frustration. “I don’t appreciate _any_ decree putting stipulations on what you can or cannot drink—or whom you are allowed to _love_ ,” he finally husks out, knowing it’s dangerous territory for them and not caring in the slightest.

Tina seems to accept this. She picks at her slacks, speaking to her lap as she answer. “I know. And I agree. Queenie is so sad, and you and I—” She cuts herself off and Newt snorts ruefully.

“You and I can’t help but dance around the issue,” he finishes for her with a grandiose hand gesture. He threads his fingers together before leaning his forehead against them, breathing slow and shallow. “I wish I had more whiskey,” he murmurs to himself, knowing it’s the _last_ thing he needs. A rustle at his side, and a thunk, and when he glances up there’s a full glass before him. He quirks a brow and reaches for it.

“Is that what you and Queenie were talking about the other day? Down in the case?” 

Newt swallows until the burning leaves his throat. He gropes for a moment to recall the conversation—and doesn’t wish to answer when he does. The alcohol compels him to be honest, however, and he feels a slow fissure of appreciation for her mettle. _Crafty little witch_ he thinks affectionately, and in that moment allows himself to believe he could love her.

“We were talking about school,” he finally settles on. He speaks to the glass in his hand, knowing that meeting her eyes now would spell disaster. The steamship ticket sits heavily in his pocket, and more than once he’s had to stay the urge to toss it into the fire. “We were also speaking of...other things.” He chances a look at her from the very corner of his eye, and the firelight plays on her skin, painting her in light and shadow. _Beautiful_.

Tina leans further into the couch, shoulders relaxing. She shifts closer to him under the pretext of tucking a blanket around their legs. Newt smirks and sips his drink until she settles. He offers her the glass and she hesitates before plucking it from him and taking a pull. He watches her lips ply the edges for longer than necessary, and he has to jerk his eyes away with a physical effort.

“What were these other things?” she asks finally, and he needs a moment to remember the topic of their conversation..

“I was expelled, as you know,” he says, in place of _love, Tina. We spoke of love, and love lost._ He scrubs his upper lip and watches the smoldering wood in the fireplace. “It was never upheld so I was able to graduate, though it was without fanfare. I left the day before the rest of my class. Brought terrible shame on my family. My brother wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.”

She shifts, and her feet bump into his leg. She prepares to draw back but slender fingers wrap around her ankle, rubbing the spur of bone there. Tina sighs raggedly and tucks her toes under his thigh. He exhales slowly when she looks at him expectantly.

“I messed up catastrophically. I...fell in love with the wrong person,” he finally settles on, knowing it to be the truest, simplest explanation. Newt feels her stiffen against him and he fans his fingers over her skin, stroking soothingly. He hums and rubs his fingers over the ridge of her tendon until she relaxes. Tina sighs, and her breath drifts over his arm.

“Her name was Leta Lestrange. She was much like me, in that she had a fascination with creatures. She was _not_ like me in that she had a meanness about her. One day in fifth year, she loosed one of her creatures in the Great Hall. A student was hurt, not badly, and she was already on academic probation for other incidences. So I stepped forward and took the blame. I expected her to help me clear my name; instead, she sent me a Howler and cut off contact with me.”

Newt squeezes her before smoothing his fingers over her calf. “Her father was on the school board and was the one who spearheaded for my expulsion. Professor Dumbledore fought on my behalf and rallied the other teachers and board-members. Thus, I was able to finish my education.”

Newt turns and speaks to her shoulder. “I soon realized she _wanted_ to get caught. She _wanted_ to take the blame. But I buggered her plans up. She had no desire to be bartered like cattle for the sake of familial aspirations. She’s married now, I imagine. I wouldn’t know.”

He chances a look up at her eyes, and his breath stops. She looks equal parts sad and elated, transfixed and betrayed. “Were you and she ever more than friends?” she asks in a hoarse whisper, and Newt closes his eyes. He wishes desperately to lie but knows it isn’t possible in this moment. He reaches out to reclaim his glass and knocks back the remainder, welcoming the slide from tipsy to drunk.

“Yes,” he intones, when the alcohol has lubricated his tongue. He very carefully sets the glass on the table and raises his other hand to pet the arch of her foot. “Her idea of a suitable birthday present was to divest me of my virginity when I turned 16, Tina. She was...not a good person to me, or for me.” Tina wriggles her toes and Newt runs the tip of fingers over them, tickling briefly before returning his attention to her instep.

“Was there anyone else?”

Newt rolls his head onto his left shoulder, suddenly unable to support its weight. “There was a woman, during the war. A Ukrainian prostitute, if you can believe it—one whom I grew quite attached to while I was stationed there. She was...quite pretty, in her own way. Leta made me feel dirty, but Katerina made me feel _clean_ , despite her profession. She taught me many things, including how to please a woman. I left shortly before the war ended and returned to England. We corresponded a few times, and I paid a visit to her once or twice in my travels, but eventually the friendship waned.”

Newt’s fingers creep further up her leg, massaging the bend of her knee. Tina allows this, finally relaxing into him with a sigh. Newt leans over to press a kiss to her kneecap before struggling back upright. He doesn’t quite make it, winding up half-sprawled across her. He wraps his arms around her thighs. 

“You’re very comfortable,” he purrs, and she snorts.

“Newt. You can’t sleep on me.”

“Well. I’d rather sleep _with_ you, if we’re being honest, but I’m afraid I’m in no fit state.” He manages to bring one eye to half-mast, watching her in the low light. She looks skeptical and a little sad, so he puts forth a concentrated effort and sits up straight. Taking her hand is easier, and infusing his voice with raw honesty is easier still. He pulls her into him and she doesn’t resist. She sprawls against his chest and he presses kisses to her hair.

“I would like you to be in my bed tonight. We won’t do anything, our clothes will remain on, but I’d like to hold you, if I may.” He gives her what he hopes is an imploring look. Tina smiles and touches his cheek before tasting the whiskey on his tongue. He melts into it, welcoming her into him for perhaps the last time, and feeling her loss acutely when she leans away.

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed, Newt.”

*


	7. December 14, 1926

*

**_December 14, 1926_ **

They wake in each other's arms, and lie quietly to watch the clock wind down to the inevitable.

Newt takes extra care at his morning toilet. He sets his boots to polish and his clothes to freshen while he cleans himself. He shaves with a fussiness not employed since his time in the army, and brushes his teeth twice to chase away the whiskey-staleness of morning. He even combs his hair out of his eyes — a useless gesture, but he supposes it’s the idea that counts. It spills over his brow as soon as his comb is tucked away, and he sighs and gives it up for a lost cause.

Tina wears a skirt, a rare occasion. The full A-line is edged with subtle black lace, a Victorian throwback she secretly loves. She chooses to top it with her sturdy work blouse, but covers it with a rather elegant duster. She wears black, sculpted-heel boots instead of her typical brogues, and her stockings of raw silk. Tina polishes her boots and carefully brushes her hair, and when tears threaten she thinks of her sister and what she’s enduring, day by painful day — and that makes it a little easier.

They meet in the sitting room, and it’s like their first time in this space all over again. They each pretend not to notice the small wardrobe changes in the other. Tina watches him avidly, looking for any sign, any _clue_ of what he’s thinking. Newt can’t or won’t meet her eyes, studiously avoiding giving away his thoughts, and too soon it’s time to leave. 

Queenie is the freest of them, and there’s no shame in her parting tears. Newt allows her to hug him, and closes his eyes when she brushes a kiss across his cheek.

*

His ship is scheduled to leave at noon, and his general dislike of crowds means they wait for the very last minute to arrive. They march together to the foot of the gangplank before hovering uncertainly, Newt striving for stoicism, and Tina unable to keep from gnawing her lip. He turns to her and she releases it, allowing herself to smile genuinely at him.

_I’ll miss you,_ she thinks through the pall of sadness weighing down her mind, _but I’m going to survive this. I have to, because you’d be disappointed in me if I did anything else._

Newt returns her smile with one of his own, and his eyes skitter to her face to gauge the expression she wears. He intentionally firms the line of his mouth and squares his shoulders. “Well, it’s been...” There are no words adequate enough to encompass all that he’s feeling, so he let’s the thought trail away into nothing.

“Hasn’t it!” Tina exclaims, shielding an ocean of doubt behind gentle pride and hope. 

Newt looks up at her and he can feel his emotions telegraphed across his face, leaving him feeling horribly exposed. 

Tina smiles gently. “Listen, Newt, I wanted to thank you.”

He drops his gaze, confused but hopeful. “What on earth for?” He holds his breath.

“Well, you know,” Tina begins softly, “if you hadn’t said all those nice things about me to Madam Picquery—I wouldn’t be back on the Investigative Team now.” It’s not what she wants to say, or what she wants to talk about, or even what she wants to thank him for—but it’s neutral and safe, and it takes some of the sting of separation out of her heart. _Their_ heart.

Newt smiles slightly. “Well—I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have investigating me.” It’s both the right and wrong thing to say, and he winces. It’s not what he meant but it’s also _truer_ than anything he’s said so far today. He grimaces awkwardly and drops his eyes to her boots.

Tina smiles appreciatively, suddenly shy but allowing for cautious warmth to infuse her chest. She can’t resist teasing, just a little. “Well, try not to need investigating for a bit.”

Newt’s smile ratchets up in intensity, echoing her thoughts, but his eyes remain fixed on their shoes. His cheeks, she realizes, are pink with a blush. “I will. Quiet life for me from now on...back to the Ministry...deliver my manuscript...”

Tina ducks her head in an attempt to catch his eyes. “I’ll look out for it. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.”

Newt’s head snaps up to look at her, and his gaze is _naked_. Hope, longing, pain, they’re all written clearly across his features — a reflection of her own turbulent feelings. Tina wants nothing more than to reach out a hand and smooth them away. To see him smile wholly before leaving, instead of looking as though his world is ending. 

He does _attempt_ a smile after a beat or two, but it’s weaker even than the December sun, and it falls almost immediately. His lips part in a silent sigh.

Tina scrambles to regain ground against the _magnitude_ of her impending loss, and asks the first question that comes to mind. “Does Leta Lestrange like to read?”

The hurt look slips from his face, to be replaced with confusion—he doesn't remember speaking of Leta with her. Newt blinks, and she watches his eyes grow suspiciously shiny. “Who?” He asks, and she knows it’s not a contrivance. Her heart twists painfully in her chest as tears cloud her vision.

“The girl whose picture you carry—”

“I don’t really know what Leta likes these days because people change.” Newt speaks quickly, urgently, before swallowing. He blinks, apparently to gather his courage. There’s a flash of pink when he moistens his lips, gaze heavy with tears unshed, and Tina closes her own eyes for a moment in a bid to regain control of her galloping emotions.

“Yes.”

“I’ve changed,” he goes on, eyes never leaving her face, and she can see a dawning realization there. “I think. Maybe a little.” _You’ve changed me_ is left unspoken, but it’s there in the subtext. Newt’s vision blurs and now it’s his turn to scrabble against the expanding pain in his chest. 

Tina presses her lips firmly together to keep them from trembling, and she allows the sense-memory of his hands and his mouth to ripple across her skin. 

The ship’s siren sounds then, and Newt jerks his head around with a grimace. Then he turns back to her and she allows herself to really _look_ at him for the first time today, lovingly detailing his features and committing them to memory.

He meets her gaze unflinchingly and holds it. “I’ll send you a copy of my book, if I may.”

Tina holds her breath to choke back a sob. “I’d like that.”

Newt stares a moment more, drinking in her features. He recalls the touch of her hand, the feel of her mouth—the heavy silk of her hair spilling between his fingers. He blinks against the pain, and raises his hand to brush the apple of her cheek before tucking her hair her dainty ear. He lingers a beat to savor the texture of her, his scarred and calloused paw a sharp contrast to her flawless skin.

Then he takes one last, long look, a _lovers_ look, before turning away abruptly.

He’s nearly to the gangplank when a thought occurs. It burns through the gray shrouding his thoughts like hot July sun through fog, and stuns him in place. His eyes widen and he catches his breath before he turns and runs back to her, unwilling to give himself a chance to change his mind or talk himself out of it.

Tina’s touching her cheek shakily and choking back tears when he approaches. It hurts to look at her so he doesn’t, choosing instead to admire the shine on her boots. She looks up quickly when he skids to a halt in front of her, and he can feel her holding her breath.

“I’m so sorry—how would you feel if I gave you your copy in person?” He sends a quick prayer up to Merlin or Paracelsus or whoever may favor awkward magizoologists before chancing a look at her face. The tears remain but now she’s smiling dazzlingly, the way she’d smiled when he’d woken besides her in the morning, and fed her lunch at her desk at work, and sat with him in his case—

His heart stops, just for a moment.

“I’d like that—very much.” She laughs and sobs at the same time, and Newt’s heart restarts only to beat triple-time. His own eyes are heavy with unshed tears but he smiles all the same. Her grin remains, and he looks at it one last time, a drought of life-saving water prior to crossing the desert, before tearing himself away.

Newt strides up the gangplank, feeling her eyes on him. He stops just short of the top and takes a fortifying breath. He wants to turn around and take one last look, but he _cannot_ —the urge to run back to her arms, to kiss her and claim her as his own is almost overwhelming. Turning back now would crumble his unsteady resolve.

_I’d give up my life’s work for you, Tina,_ he realizes dazedly. _Please don’t think I won’t come back for you, because I will. We’ll survive this together, and we will be stronger for it in the end._

The revelation and acceptance of these feelings infuses him with profound strength, and he’s able to gulp and continues on nearly at a jog. The ship's mate tips his hat in welcome while Newt manages a stuttering nod, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Then he’s inside the hatch, back at sea, and his Tina is left behind. 

He hooks to the right sharply, finding a conveniently placed porthole, and she’s still there, standing with her hands in her pockets and smiling after him faintly. Newt presses his fingers to his lips, remembering the taste and feel of her, the luminosity of her smile and the scent of her skin. He watches as she moves away, at last allowing his tears to roll down his face—entirely unconcerned with who witnesses them. 

_Soon_ , he thinks at her, and it’s a promise etched in his heart.

Tina turns and tilts her head back to smile at the sky. She breathes deep and recalls the feel of a warm male body next to and beneath hers, calloused hands carding through her hair, a crooked smile. 

_Soon_ she thinks at him, and it’s an extension of their unspoken covenant, forged in skin and passion.

She skips a step in joy and Newt chokes where he watches, smiling through his tears. He closes his eyes and pressing his hot face into the cool glass. There he remains, until the ship’s engines thrum beneath his feet and his Tina is a distant speck, merging with the rest of the vibrant New York throng. Then he staggers off to find his quarters.

Tina leaves Port Authority with a smile, warmed entirely from within—and the ship, unconcerned with such petty mortal foibles as love and loss, steams its way out of the harbor.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This tale will span from December 8th, 1926 to December 14th, 1926. Since the events in _Fantastic Beasts_ end sometime in the predawn hours of December 8th, I count that as the first full day for the sake of this story. This story is written in it's entirety, and is currently undergoing the beta-reading process. You can anticipate an update every two days, which means my next upload will be Saturday, February 25th.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Kemara and Diggy, beta-reader and cheerleader supreme! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> P.S. For the sake of ratings, I've toned this down to a T. _**HOWEVER**_ , for those that are into that sort of thing, there will be outtakes chock-full o' smut for my adult readers. They will be uploaded concurrent with their corresponding chapter. :)


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